Page 139 of Aurelia

Roland slid a second finger inside her, easing the emptiness, but not giving her enough.

“Roland,” she murmured. “I need—”

“I know what you need, darling. Rise up on your knees.”

Her legs felt boneless and it took effort to push up. And then she felt the blunt heat of him at her entrance and her body knew what to do. She slowly slid down his length, the sensation of fullness heavenly.

Roland’s hips lifted off the bed, filling her until he could penetrate no deeper. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

The sight of her normally self-possessed lover struggling for control made her inner muscles clench.

He groaned and met her gaze, his face hard, no sign of the humor that usually lurked. “Ride me, Aurelia.”

Aurelia began to post him—hard—earning more groans and mutters and crude words.

Roland flexed and thrusted, sweat building on his abdomen and chest. She leaned forward to tease his tiny nipple and realized instantly the benefit of such an angle. The next stroke made her moan as his shaft rubbed against her sex in exactly the right way.

Beneath her, he gave a breathy chuckle when she nipped him. “Naughty. Now make us both come, Aurelia.”

She shuddered at his filthy command, not needing to be told twice, concentrating all her effort on where they were joined, experimenting with the way she rolled her hips to get the most friction. Aurelia lowered herself harder and harder with each stroke, her hips becoming difficult to control, the pleasure yet again spiraling out of control until her climax overwhelmed her.

Roland grabbed Aurelia’s hips when they stopped responding to her commands, thrusting only a few times before his body stiffened and his thick shaft spasmed inside her, filling her with jet after jet of heat.

Aurelia’s head rested against his chest and she marveled at the erratic but strong pounding of his heart. The sense of completeness that filled her was so profound that it startled her. She had experienced moments of complete contentment occasionally when she had painted something she was entirely pleased with, but never had she felt it with another person.

“I love you,” he said, as if he could hear her thoughts. And then his arms tightened around her.

Aurelia felt his breathing gradually become more regular and gloried in the fact that he was still inside her even though he slept.

Her sated, sluggish thoughts wandered back to that dreadful, endless coach ride from Little Sissingdon to Balcrewe that she had endured half a year ago, when she had left behind the only life she knew and all the people she loved. At the time, Aurelia had worried that she and her sisters and brother would never be together again—and she’d feared that she had only her work and a subsistence future to look forward to.

But rather than losing her family, she had found a brand new one.

She kissed Roland’s chest, unable to resist his small nipple, nipping and sucking it as he did hers.

He jolted beneath her, his eyelid heavy as he glanced around the room. “Is it morning already?”

Aurelia laughed softly. “No. I doubt you’ve been asleep for even a quarter of an hour.”

He gave a groan of relief, the corners of his mouth slowly curling into a smile and the tiny lines at the corner of his eye deepening. “Ah, then we’ve still got plenty of time, hmm?”

“Yes, my love. We still have plenty of time.” Aurelia took his face in both hands and rubbed their noses together, the way that he’d taught her to enjoy. “All the time in the world.”

Epilogue

December

Six Years Later

Aargh, how on earth have you done this twice before?” Celsa moaned.

Aurelia chuckled at the younger woman, who’d been shifting unceasingly on a chaise longue for the past few hours, unable to get comfortable.

“I have never been two weeks past the doctor’s predicted due date as you have,” Aurelia pointed out.

“Where is Gideon? I sent him for strawberries ages ago,” Celsa groused.

Aurelia did not point out there were no strawberries to be had at this time of year, not even in the hothouses. No doubt poor Gideon had gone to hide somewhere and avoid another tongue-lashing from his waspish spouse.